Slayer at 1600
by BigHead
Summary: Someone was murdered in a demonic ritual, a pretty common occurrence in the life of Watchers and Slayers. Problem is the address where the ritual occurred: The White House. PROLOGUE SLIGHTLY CORRECTED.
1. Prologue

**Slayer at 1600**

**Author:** BigHead /

**Disclaimer:** Buffy belongs to me? Yeah, right. Gotta bridge to sell you if you believe that.

**Summary:** Someone was murdered in a demonic ritual, a pretty common occurrence in the life of Watchers and Slayers. Problem is the address where the ritual occurred: The White House.

**Rating: **R for language and graphic description of violence.

**Author's Notes: **Thanks to Mom, Dad and that incredible sex that gave origin to me. 1- Remember to update your fics more constantly 2- Feedback is always welcome... Damn, those notes are not in here, but keep them in mind. First one, this is an idea based on an old movie called Murder at 1600, which had the same basic premises of this fic. Since I never walked in the White House and don't exactly know how SS works, I'm inventing a lot of stuff here. Oh, yeah, this is nine years post S7.

**Feedback**: YESSSS!!!! PLEEEEAAAASEEE!!!

* * *

**Prologue**

Consuelo Javier was happy. She finally managed to set all of the pieces together, finding someone willing to cover her shift and passing it trough her supervisor and the head of security. So, everything was clear for her granddaughter's birthday. Gifts were already bought and some of the food was already on her refrigerator at home.

In this happy mood, she pushed the cleaning cart a bit further down the hall. It was a happy life, she mused, being a cleaning lady. Of course, in this specifically job she did have a few more inconveniences than the rest, such as having to pass a security clearance every year, being searched every time she came for her job and went home, but that was the life on the White House. Besides, the pay was good and her patrons this time were excellent people, always with a kind word and asking about her life and her family. All in all, she had no complaints.

Well, almost none, anyway. Probably the one real complaint that she had was having to clean those specific rooms. Like in every house, there are some rooms that get full of stuff that nobody wants anymore, and don't want to throw out. Since the occupants in this one tend to change every four years, there were some rooms like that. From time to time, a group of Secret Service agents would clean up one of the rooms, to clean up space for more clutter. The Five Rooms of Doom, they were called by the cleaning personnel. Located in sub-level two, they were mostly 'forgotten' in the cleaning shifts, but once in a while, someone was sorted to check them out. This time, it was Consuelo, and since she was in a nice mood, she passed the security card over the reader in the door whistling. The light changed from the typical red to green, and she pushed it.

Surprisingly, the door didn't budge. She tried passing the card again, the light went green, and she pushed more strongly. Nothing. Perhaps something was stuck behind the door. Time to ask for help.

She approached John, the Secret Service agent in charge of the hallway.

"John, could you help me?" she asked to the big black man. The agent smiled at her, showing a row of perfect white teeth. Except from a few rare exceptions, they were all extremely nice to her.

"Sure, Mrs. Javier. What can I do for you?"

"The door to 417 is stuck. Can you give me a hand?"

"Sure," he said, walking with her to the door. He passed his own card in the reader, and the door's light blinked a steady green. He pushed, but the door remained stuck. He tried again and got the same result, even applying more strength.

"Strange," he said, and touched his earplug, activating the mic near his throat. "Control, this is Stevens in sub two. Room 417 has a stuck door. Can you see if something is blocking it from the inside?"

Control answered him a few seconds later. He replied, looking to the underside of the door and the light that shone under it. "That's a negative, Control. I see light coming from the room. You sure the camera is working?"

He listened for a few more seconds, face getting serious in an instant. "Ok, Control. Step aside a bit, Mrs. Javier."

The cleaning lady did as she was told, and the black man crossed to the other side of the hallway. In two steps he was putting all of his body's weight and strength in his shoulder, which hit the door near the middle. It didn't resist this time.

The stench assaulted him quicker than he was able to focus. He looked to the room and almost wasn't able to control his stomach. "Holy shit," he exclaimed.

"Madre de Dios," Consuelo said, looking behind his back. She wasn't as strong as John, so she turned back and lost her lunch right in the middle of the hallway.

* * *

Special Agent Joyce Cameron arrived for her shift right on time, as she always did. She passed the security checkpoint and went straight to the Control Center, to see if something has changed in the last seventy-two hours. What she found out was beyond her wildest dreams. The normally calm room was a frantic mess of activity, agents yelling at each other, pointed fingers and all. Luckily, nobody had pulled a gun yet. She only managed to focus on a single word, "murder". 

The tall brunette, with ice blue eyes and short raven hair looked around, her senses trying to filter up the jumble of information assaulting her. Before she could focus enough, the balding man known as Malcolm Hollister, the Chief of Security for the White House entered the room. His presence was enough to quiet everyone into full silence.

"Everyone sit down," he ordered, and every agent did as told, she included. "For the ones arriving now, what is about to be discussed in this room is not to leave this room. If I hear a peep of it out of the mouth of anyone that isn't supposed to know, I'll kill the one responsible myself. Is that clear?" he asked the room. Wisely, nobody answered it.

"Ok, to situate everyone: at precisely 1446 today, the cleaning staff went out in their duties to clean up room S2-417. The cleaning lady, Mrs. Consuelo Javier, found out that the door was stuck. She asked for the help of agent John Stevens," Malcolm made a head motion, pointing to the black agent standing up to the side, "Agent Stevens tried to open the door, without success. He asked the Control Room to check if there was something wrong with the room, and they reported that the light on the room was non-functional. Agent Stevens denied this information, and Mrs. Javier also confirmed this, that he could see the light under the door. Control ordered him to force the door open, which he promptly did. This is what he and Mrs. Javier found out."

Hollister stepped aside and the projector came alive, showing images that should have come from the mind of a lunatic. The room was covered in blood, and what looked like arcane symbols. Spent mounds of wax denoted the use of candles in several points, and in the middle of the room, spread naked in the floor right in the middle of a pentagram, lay a young woman, in an advanced state of decomposition, with her throat opened from one side to another.

Three agents stood up and ran to the closest bathroom. Joy almost followed them, but in an amazing feat of control, contained her stomach. Nobody would tease them about it.

Hollister continued after some other images were shown. "Aside from Ms. Jane Doe and the candles, nothing else was found on the room. We called in a forensics team from the FBI and they are passing a fine comb in the room as we speak. The last time this room was opened was fifty-seven days ago, according to the cleaning staff. It is largely unused, so nobody noticed a thing until today. So, what I want to know, people, is how a murder with ritualistic characteristics happened right under our noses, in the most secure home in the planet?"

That made all the arguments start all over again, like a room full of hormonal induced teenagers.

"SHUT UP!" Hollister bellowed. The room fell silent once again. "I'M BEGINNING TO SEE HOW THIS WAS POSSIBLE, IF ALL OF YOU BEHAVE LIKE THAT! WE ARE THE SECRET SERVICE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE CANNOT SCREW UP! AND WE DID, IN THE WORST POSSIBLE WAY! WE HAVE A MURDER IN HERE!"

Every single one of them wanted to hide in the nearest hole right now. Hollister managed to calm down a bit, under the circumstances.

"So, if everyone finished pointing fingers and calling names, I have several questions that I wanted answered. How did this girl get in here? Who allowed her in? When was that? Who was she? Why was she here? When did the murder happen? Why didn't we smell something before? Why is the camera not working properly? Who was the agent in charge of the hallway at the time of the murder? What were those symbols? Who has knowledge of them? And most important of all: who is the murderer?"

The agents in the room looked to one another, nobody coming with an answer.

"We have something on our sides, if we can call it that. The Presidential Family is out for the next 72 hours, so we have until then to find out all of those answers. I've divided you in groups to deal with each and every one of those questions, so get the groups with Angela here," he said to one agent standing up "and go find the answers to them. We'll have another meeting in ten hours. Dismissed."

* * *

Joy's group got two questions, what were the symbols and who knew them, and the question that everyone else got, who was the murderer. The three-agents team was browsing the Internet searching for some info, while Joy herself decided to take a look in the room. She got to sub basement two and walked down the hallway. 

Problem was that, the closer she got to the room, more her 'other' senses went haywire. Something happened there, something serious. And something she thought she would never had to deal with. The two agents posted at the broken door gave her a cursory glance and allowed her in.

The moment she crossed the threshold, she felt something inside her stir.

She didn't stand in the room for another second; she turned around and went out to talk with Hollister.

Joy stood outside his door and knocked. "Enter," she heard the muffled reply from the interior.

She opened the door and walked in, looking to the man. He looked devastated. She closed the door back.

"What is it, agent Cameron?"

When she walked in the room down below and felt 'it' stir, she knew this was the right thing to do, but how to explain it?

"Sir, I believe I have someone who can help us with this case."

"Who is it, agent?"

"First, sir, I have a revelation to make, and I want your word that it won't come out of this room."

The man stood up in a flash. "If you got something to do with . . ." he started, reddening considerably in seconds.

"No, no, sir!" she said, backing up a bit. "I swear, I don't. I want this explained as much as you do. But this is personal to me."

"Speak up," he said, calming down a little bit.

"Do you believe in the supernatural, sir?"

"I'm not the nutcase that did that . . . thing down below, agent," he said, looking at the ice blue eyes.

"That is the problem, sir, I don't believe it was a nutcase. I think he, she or it knew exactly what it was doing, sir."

"Why do you say that?"

"Do you believe in vampires, sir?"

Hollister laughed, but it hadn't any fun in it. "What, are you going to tell me a vampire did that?"

"No, sir, I believe one did not, but something far more sinister."

"Get out of my room, agent, and go find some piece of real evidence," he said, anger reflected in his voice.

Joy looked around, and she noticed the aluminum bat he kept to a corner, an old joke he liked to pull on new agents.

"Can I have your 'Bat of Obedience' for a second, sir?" she asked.

"Why, Cameron?"

"Just to show you something."

Hollister caught the solid bat and gave it to the agent, which proceeded to twist it into a knot without apparent effort. The mouth of the senior agent fell almost to the ground.

"H-how. . .?"

Joyce Cameron gave the twisted bat back to her superior officer and sat on the other chair. She had to thank God for her perfect memory recall.

"This world is older than any of us know, and contrary to popular mythology, it did not begin in a paradise. For untold eons, demons walked the earth, made it their home, their hell. In time, they lost their purchase on this reality, and the way was made for mortal animals. For man. What remains of the Old Ones are vestiges: certain magicks, certain creatures. One of the last demons mixed his blood with man, and thus the first vampire was born. And to fight those remaining demons and the vampires, a group of mages forged a mystical warrior, one girl in the entire world, Chosen with the speed and strength to fight them. This girl is known as the Slayer."

"And you are this . . . Slayer?"

"One of them. Something happened years ago, and now, instead of just one, there are lots of them."

"How do you know all that? And why are you telling me this right now?"

"Years ago, I was just starting in the Service when I got a strange visitor in my door one day…"

-- O --

Joy returned from her morning run to find a man standing near her door. He was well dressed, albeit looking like a college teacher. She approached her door, and the man walked closer. 

"Miss Cameron? Miss Joyce Cameron?" he asked, trying to sound the least menacing as possible.

"Yes? Who wants to know?" she asked, nonplussed.

"My name is Rupert Giles, and I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you, Ms. Cameron," he said in a British accent.

"Sorry, not interested," she said, walking into her apartment.

"How are you dealing with the nightmares?" he asked to a mostly closed door. The door halted and opened again, Joy's looking at him wearily.

"How do you know about them?"

"Can I come in? I swear I'll explain it all."

Joy opened the door, letting the man enter. Giles let a small smile crease his face, even knowing she did that on instinct.

"So, Mr. Giles, how do you know about my nightmares?"

And Giles did indeed explain it all.

-- O --

"So, are you telling me that there is a secret organization that deals with the supernatural, and they are full of those 'Slayers' girls?" Hollister asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Why didn't you accept his invitation?"

"Well, sir, I always wanted to work as a Secret Service agent. I fought hard for it, and when I managed it, I wanted nothing else. He gave me the option of keeping my life as it was, and I took it. He just asked me to go to a 'Slayers Summer Camp', as he called it, so that I could know how to deal if anything supernatural came my way."

"Your trip to Britain," Hollister asked. It was stored in her file.

"Exactly. I never faced anything truly dangerous, sir, but I patrol some nights, so that I won't get rusty."

"And how those 'patrols' go?"

"A vampire here or there, sir. Washington is quite calm in that regard. I guess they are scared of being found."

"Ok, agent. I'll buy it. Why are you telling me all that now?"

"Sir, my 'Slayer senses' went nuts when I walked into that room. Whatever that was, it really was supernaturally related."

"What can we do about it?"

"I would like to call the Watcher's Council and ask for help. I can call Mr. Giles personally, he's the Head of the Council and a very noble man. He can help us out and keep his mouth shut."

"You sure about it, Cameron?"

"Yes, sir. I believe we will improve our chances exponentially."

"Do it," he said, extending the telephone for her.

She dialed the overseas number from memory.

"WSC Enterprises, may I help you?" sounded the voice of the receptionist who helped ensure the Council's front.

"This is Slayer Joyce Cameron, ID 149-04," she said, using something she thought she would never need. "I need to speak with Rupert Giles, it's a matter of the utmost importance."

"I'll transfer you immediately, Slayer Cameron. Please hold."

She waited for a few seconds, while the transfer was being made.

"Rupert Giles," came the strong voice on the other side.

"Mr. Giles, this is Joyce Cameron. I need a favor."

"Oh, yes, Ms. Cameron. I remember you. What can I do for you?"

"Do you remember my other job?"

"Of course I do. What is the problem?" he asked, worry tinged his voice.

"It seems they both mixed up in a rather messy way. I have a ritual that happened right in the middle of it, with a victim, and we are flying blind."

The British Watcher went mute for several seconds.

"What can I do to help?"

"I need someone who understands this stuff and can help in the investigation. And he or she gotta be trustworthy and be able to keep his mouth shut."

Giles didn't think it twice. "I have the perfect person, and he is nearby, in another case for us. He could stop it and come to your aid. I will ask him to contact you immediately."

"What is his name?" she asked, picking up a pencil and a piece of paper.

"Alexander Harris."


	2. Interwoven Mysteries

Chapter 1: Interwoven Mysteries 

The next morning found Agent Cameron protecting herself from the light snowfall with an umbrella, Agent Stevens at her side near the White House back entrance. She gave a quick look to the huge black man, and could notice how utterly devastated he looked. Her earplug beeped, informing that a Mr. Harris was entering the premises. She acknowledged it, and waited.

In a few moments, a dark blue SUV was parking near her, while her mind kept remembering the file they had uncovered on Mr. Harris.

Alexander Lavelle (what kind of name is Lavelle, anyway?) Harris, born in Sunnydale, CA, before the town sunk and became Lake Sunnydale. Average guy, a bit less than average student, but with an Omega-encrypted military file. After a four-year stay in Africa, he was now living surprisingly in Washington, DC, and was the owner of a small but successful construction company, XDH Construction. And that was it. So, why did Mr. Giles indicate him?

The man who jumped out of the SUV didn't look much like the one on the file's photos. First, in none of them did he have the black eye patch that covered his left eye, or the well-trimmed goatee and mustache and the juvenile appearance was gone, in its place was a mature handsomeness that stirred something inside of Joy. He was well dressed for someone in the middle of Washington's winter, with thick jeans pants, hiking boots, a dark blue wool sweater and a dark brown parka. Around his neck, rested a small silver crucifix, visible under the wool scarf. Joy noticed some grays appearing in his hair and summarized everything in a single sentence in her mind, '_what a hunk_'.

"Agent Cameron?" he approached, extending a gloved hand. She shook the hand. "Xander Harris."

That's when everything clicked in place. Damn, what a stupid agent she was! He was 'The' Xander Harris all the older Slayers kept telling about during her 'Summer Camp'. That's why Mr. Giles recommended him.

"A pleasure finally meeting you, Mr. Harris."

"Ho… ah, yes. Summer Camp," he said and grinned a – to her - very sexy grin.

"Yes. This is Agent Stevens, he was the one who found the, ah . . . victim."

Xander looked at the black man, and nodded with a saddened face. "I'm sorry, I know how those things go, sometimes."

The man only shook his head.

"Can we go in? Californian born and bred here, this cold is for polar bears," he said, smile returning to his face.

"Sure," Joy said.

They walked over to small door, and as soon as they were in the heated interior of the White House, Xander removed his gloves, displaying a wedding ring on his left hand and another strange silver ring on his right one. _'Damn,'_ Joy thought it over, eyeing the wedding ring.

"Come, over here," she said, pointing to a checkpoint. Xander went over a metal detector and was thoroughly searched. He wasn't carrying any weapons, only a wallet, his cell phone and key chain, so they were quickly released, Xander sporting a visitor tag on his parka.

"Where to, first?" he asked, eyeing the interior of the house.

"My superior wants to speak with you, and then I believe we should already have the reports on the autopsy," she said.

They walked through a maze of corridors and people frantically at work. Xander gave away a small snicker.

'What?" she asked.

"West Wing."

Joy smiled a bit. "We get that a lot around here, especially from the newbies."

They entered a large room, filled with Secret Service personnel, everyone in frantic activity. Before Xander had the chance to look anywhere, he was escorted to a side door. Agent Cameron knocked on it, and after a muffled "Come in," she opened the door and the duo followed her.

"Yes, Agent . . ." and then, Hollister saw the strange man standing behind her. "Ah, Mr. Harris, I would like to say this is a pleasure, but . . ." the Chief of House Security said, approaching and extending his hand. Xander shook it firmly.

"The feeling is mutual. I would have wanted to visit the White House on a tour, but I guess in my business you can't be picky," Xander said, but the grimace that followed had nothing humorous in it.

Hollister looked even more rumpled. He had foregone his suit's jacket, and his sleeves were folded almost to his elbows, the tie loosened as well. He sat back on his chair, the pile of papers on his desk making him look more like an accountant than the Secret Service Agent he was supposed to be.

"Well, Mr. Harris, I guess you know something about what happened in here."

"Giles just gave me a brief rundown. I would like to hear the entire story, if it is possible."

"Before we begin, I must stress out that this falls under the Secrecy Act, and must not be discussed outside the premises, or to other people. Is that clear?"

"Look, Mr. . . ." Xander started.

"Hollister."

"Look, Mr. Hollister, I would like us to begin on the right foot. You don't have to worry about a damn thing, because if I can keep my friends' secrets all this time, I surely can keep this mess out of anyone's ear. I won't take notes, I won't record a thing and I won't take a picture. So, every single thing that you have is yours. I just came here, to help, on your orders."

That didn't catch well with Hollister. Later on, he would admit it was the stress, right now he simply wasn't caring.

"And how do you intend to do that, Mr. Construction Worker?" Hollister asked, sneering. It really was the wrong thing to say.

"I believe we have a problem of faith here, even if some proof has been given to you," Xander said, eyeing the twisted bat. "Nice modern art. I have a chromed crowbar myself. I don't need to prove anything to you, but just to get the bullshit outta the way, you know I've been thoroughly prodded and searched when I arrived. Correct?"

Hollister looked him straight in the eye. "Of course, standard operating . . ." before he could blink, he had a FN Five-seveN automatic pointed right between his eyes, being held by the 'construction worker', "procedure."

In the same speed that the gun had appeared, it disappeared inside Xander's parka. The other two agents didn't even move a muscle. He held his hands sky high. "You want to do the frisking yourself, go ahead."

Hollister did exactly that, after he stopped shaking. They were supposed to face guns as a job, but no one is trained enough to eye one so closely pointed in one's direction. "How?" he asked, dumbstruck.

"Magic. And I'm not referring to the parlor tricks, this is the real deal. Same way we have the person who did that," he said, pointing to the bat. "Can we talk now and try to solve this?"

The agent sat back down in his chair, trying to put everything into perspective. Right now, what he had was an unsolved murder.

"Ok, Mr. Harris, we'll cut the bullshit for another time. I must ask you to please leave the gun, wherever it is, holstered during your stay in here."

"Sure, it was just to prove a point. And don't worry, I even voted for the guy," Xander said, effectively diffusing the situation.

"Ok, Agent Stevens here was the one that found the victim, along the cleaning lady, Consuelo Javier. Mrs. Javier had to be sent home under medical care. You can try and speak to her later, if you wish."

"I don't think I will, but thanks. Agent Stevens, care to relate me everything that happened?"

Stevens related everything calmly and professionally. Xander noticed he was shaking slightly, but let it go. He asked a couple of questions, and nodded a few times. After he finished, Xander looked at the whiteboard hanging behind the man and read the questions written there.

"Thank you, Agent Stevens, I don't have any other questions," he said, already thinking up some answers to those questions.

The agent looked to his superior. "Go home, John, give the wife a kiss and don't come back here for a week. If you need anything, call me, but go home and forget this for a while."

"Thank you, sir," the black man said, nodded to Joy and left, closing the door.

"This crushes a man, you know? Sixteen years of it and it still shocks me sometimes," Xander voiced.

"Sixteen?" Joy asked.

"Since I was fifteen. You got lucky we cast the spell when you were older. A fair number of girls got Called not older than fourteen."

"Fouteen year olds fighting vampires? That's insane. It's criminal, it's . . ." Hollister started, getting angered by the second.

"Hey, I'm not the one who chooses them! Blame a superior Power that thinks that teenage girls are excellent warriors! Besides, the young ones are trained extensively, and just when they reach seventeen is that they are allowed to fight for real. But believe me, it's not easy or beautiful, for any of the parts involved. It's ugly and deadly, most of the times."

"I can only imagine," the Chief of Security said, deflating a bit. He too ordered people to risk their lives. "So, Mr. Harris, care to give an opinion on what you just heard?"

"I believe I can answer a few of those questions, a couple correctly, the rest is still speculation on my part. Problem is how are you going to put them in your report. First, the sure deal: from what Agent Stevens told me, the reason you didn't feel any smell before he broke up the door is because of a sealing spell."

"Sealing spell? What is it?"

"It is as the name says. It seals an environment against invasion, or against escape. Everything that is in the environment stays there. Sound, smell, people, magic. It is fairly easy to cast, but the more experienced the mage or witch, the more it will hold. If he or she were truly powerful or truly gifted, an Abrahams tank wouldn't have broken that door. So, we have a mage or witch with some knowledge but not much."

Hollister took some notes on it, shaking his head the entire time.

"Second sure deal: the camera was working properly, it was just receiving a obscuring spell in front of its lenses. As the name states, it is a spell that creates a 'darkening field' for lack of a better term. Problem is that both spells don't add up to our suspect, which takes me to our next question."

"Doesn't add up why?" Hollister asked.

"First speculation: how did the girl get in here? Another spell, this one a glamour spell or an invisibility one. Problem is, such spells, and the obscuring spell, requires a lot of ability on the side of the spell caster, and a lot of energy. If he did have so much energy, why did he make such a weak sealing spell? It doesn't add up."

"Could it be two people?" Joy asked. Hollister looked questioningly to Xander.

"I don't know, but I guess it couldn't. Hiding two people with a spell like that is dangerous, not to mention tiresome. A third one just to make such a weak spell? I don't think so."

The telephone chose that moment to ring. Hollister picked it up.

"Yeah . . . Already? Good . . . Any ID? . . . Why not? . . .Ok. I'll send someone to check the info . . . In half an hour . . . See if you can get me anything else . . . I'll be waiting. Bye," and he hung up. "I believe we'll cut our discussion a bit short. They finished the autopsy on our Jane Doe. I would like that you and Agent Cameron here to go to the FBI building and get some answers from them on the spot. And I guess you would like to check the body, Mr. Harris."

"Yeah, I would," Xander said, standing up. "So, Agent Slayer Cameron, care to test your luck with the one-eyed driver?"

"Sure. Sir," she said, nodding to her superior. They left the White House still under snowfall.

-- --

"So, Mr. Harris . . ."Joy asked, looking the car interior, noticing the baby seat in the back. '_Damn_,' she thought for the second time, "How did you get into this business?"

"Xander, please. Mr. Harris is my late father, and I wouldn't like to mention him, at all. And you could say that I fell for the right girl," he said.

"Your wife?" she asked, pointing to the ring in his finger.

"Oh, no, no. Her sister, actually," Xander said, looking to the heavy traffic. Washington did have some serious problems regarding traffic and snow.

"Who was she?"

"Did they mention Buffy Summers in your 'Summer Camp'?"

"Of course they did. The oldest living Slayer."

"That's the one. I fell for her, literally, Sophomore Year."

"Is she still alive?" Joy asked.

"Oh, yeah, and annoying as ever. You should see her holding Jesse," Xander said, smiling. "She still thinks I shouldn't do certain things, like marrying her sister and making her an aunt."

Joy laughed. "Who is Jesse?"

"My daughter," Xander said, removing his wallet and opening it in a picture of him, a tired looking Dawn and a newborn baby, Jessica. The photo looked like it had been taken in a hospital.

"How old is she?" Joy asked, returning the wallet.

"She is five months tomorrow, and that reminds me . . ." he pressed a button in the car's steering wheel and spoke aloud, "Dial home."

Joy listened the phone ring five times before it was answered.

"_Yeah?"_

"Hon, it's me. How are things?" Xander asked, taking a left turn.

"_You are lucky I love you so much, Xan, otherwise I would have killed you for calling now. Jessica just fell asleep."_

"Sorry, Dawnie. Look, I forgot one thing, tell Carmen that Josie will deliver the foods later on, it's already paid for."

"_Ok, did you buy the garlic bread?"_

"Of course I did. How could I forget it?"

"_I love you, you know that?"_

"Yeah, I do. Listen, I gotta go. Give Baby Jess a kiss, ok?"

"_Sure. See you tonight?"_ Dawn asked.

"Gonna try, hon. No promises."

"_Tell Ms. Cameron she's invited as well."_

"She's right by my side."

"_I know. I gotta go, baby. See you later. Take care. Bye, Ms. Cameron."_

The line went mute.

"How did she do that?" Joy asked, surprised.

"Beats me. I guess it's too many years living under the influence of the supernatural, something was bound to happen. But I guess, in her case, it's just woman's instinct."

"She seems nice."

"She is, much like her mother was," he said, with a note of sadness in his voice.

After that, he fell silent, and Joy kept wondering what the mystery that Xander Harris was. How a man could pull a gun in the face of the Head of House Security so coldly one moment, and be so warm with his wife the next?

The answer hadn't come yet, by the time they parked near the FBI Building.

-- --

The FBI Autopsy room was the brightest and the cleanest that Xander had ever seen, but it still held that feeling of death imprinted on everything, regardless. The woman that came to talk to them wasn't any Dana Scully as well, but a short, chubby woman by the name of Regina Anders.

Dr. Anders greeted them coolly, and before they could ask a single question, she walked with them to a table with a covered corpse on it. She walked to the head of the corpse and pulled the cover away.

"This is your Jane Doe . . ." she started, but the reaction she got from Xander made her stop. He looked at the almost unrecognizable face and cursed.

"Damn, this ain't no Jane Doe," he said, picking up his cell phone and hitting one number on the speed dial. As soon as the voice on the other side answered, he spoke.

"Robin, it's me . . . Yeah, look, is Faith around? . . . Well, tell her we got a big mess on our hands . . . Yeah, I found Andrea . . . She's dead, Robin . . . And tell Andrew I need to know what ceremonies have a Slayer as sacrifice."


	3. Dead Slayers Tell No Tales

Chapter 2 – Dead Slayers Tell No Tales 

Joy pushed Xander aside, after he shut the phone down.

"She's a Slayer?" she asked in a whisper, only as a confirmation.

"Was. Yeah," he said, his voice a mixture of sorrow and anger.

"What was she doing here?"

"I'll explain later. Let's hear what the doctor has to say first, okay?"

"Sure," Joy said, and turned back to the pathologist. The chubby woman looked to Xander.

"Are you positive on the ID of the victim?" she asked.

"Sure, her name is Andrea Miller, age . . . 23, I guess. I can arrange for more information if you need."

"That would ease things up a little. Let me continue, then."

"Sure," Joy said.

"Well, cause of death was massive blood loss, caused by severing the jugular vein. Attacker was left-handed, about six feet. Weapon was very sharp, the cut was precise, and the blade was curved. She didn't have any skin under her fingertips, and no other signs of struggle."

"What did you find on her blood work?" Xander asked immediately.

"How did you . . ." the pathologist started.

"She was a trained special ops. No one would get her like that without a struggle," he answered.

"You're right. We found traces of a powerful muscle relaxant in her tissues, and by the quantity of it, if she hadn't died from the blood loss, she would probably have from a heart failure."

The agent and Xander nodded.

"Time of death?" Joy asked.

"It's hard to be precise, but I'd say between thirty-two, thirty-five days."

"Anything else?"

"Well, aside from the cause of death, no. The girl was in perfect health, no broken bones, no nothing. You sure she was a special ops?" the doctor asked.

"She was very good," Xander said, with sadness on his voice.

"Well, okay. Let me give you my report, and if you could send me the info for her proper ID I would be pretty thankful," she said.

"Sure."

* * *

"So . . ." Joy started, after they had entered Xander's SUV.

"Well, I could go for a cup of coffee. You mind?" he said, turning the car on.

"Yeah, that would be nice," she said, eyeing him. The look on his face told her a story of too many scenes like that in his past.

"The time of death is wrong," was the first thing he said after a few minutes of silent driving.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"You know that after death our bodies keep functioning for a little bit. In Slayers, with their healing, they take a lot of time to stop working. I would say we have like forty days since she died, perhaps more. And we lost contact with her forty-three days ago."

"O-kay," she said, thinking about it. It made sense. "And how did you know about the drug?"

"Slayers can pretty much gobble up everything you throw at them, and aside from massive trauma, magic or some drugs, you can't expect to cut one's neck without any form of struggle."

"So, we are back to square one?" she asked. The autopsy gave them almost nothing to work with.

Before Xander could reply, they were parking in front of a cozy-looking café.

"No," he said, jumping out of the car and joining her on the other side. They entered, and Xander chose a corner booth, where they couldn't be heard. The waitress appeared, and the one-eyed man traded some amicable talk with her, ordering some coffee and a piece of pie. Joy decided to join him, ordering the same.

"I guess that she stumbled on something she wasn't supposed to," Xander said, while they waited.

"What? Some conspiracy theory?" Joy said, with some disgust.

"No, I guess not," he replied, seriously. The agent actually flinched with his response.

"Sorry," she said.

"No problem."

"What was she doing, then?"

The pies and coffee chose that exact moment to appear, in the hands of the waitress. They thanked her and after she had gone away, Xander replied.

"Investigating disappearing demons."

Joy almost spitted her coffee on the table top, stopping just in time.

"You mean invisible?" she asked.

"No, I mean as in missing. You see, things changed a lot after Willow's empowering spell. We ended up with so many of them that the underworld shifted their approach to them. Now, instead of only demon hunters, we act as some sort of unofficial underworld police force. We have strike teams, doing what Slayers did from their first incarnation, we have an investigative unit, doing what police detectives around the entire world do, and we have what you could call a 'diplomatic corps'. Ah, and we have the free-lancers, like you."

Joy chuckled with the 'diplomatic' bit.

"Diplomatic corps?" she asked, between giggles.

"Yeah, you should see how peaceful some discussions can get when you sit a Slayer team in a table, armed to the teeth," he said, grinning.

"So, I can gather that . . . Andrea was a 'detective', right?"

"Yes, she was investigating a series of disappearances on the demon community around Arizona. In her last contact with the Council, she said that she had some information pointing to Washington."

"Shouldn't you guys be cheering with demons disappearing?"

"Not exactly," he said, finishing his pie. "There are a few possibilities for such a case: one is a rogue or yet unidentified Slayer at work, other is a demon hunter or just people with a grudge. In that case, we check things out and if it is one of those cases, we help them out and point them in the right direction, or deal with it more . . . harshly. Option number two is inter- demon-species war, and that is not good, you can gather the reasons. Option number three is someone is using them for something else, like spells, or summons, or something like that. Option number four is them gathering for an assault on humanity. Option number five I don't want to talk about right now."

"What is it?"

Xander grimaced. "Something along the lines of a 'conspiracy theory'."

"So, how we are going to approach this now?"

"First I have a call to make from my car. Then we'll see."

"Okay," she said, finishing her coffee and pie. Xander called the waitress, paid the bill, and they walked out, going to his SUV.

Xander grabbed his PDA and put his thumb in the reader. The small device connected to the car's communication gear and made a vidcall to the Watcher's HQ, an image of an attendant appearing on the car's windshield.

"Watcher's . . . oh, hello, Xander," the woman said, refraining from calling him Mr. Harris.

"Hello, Marla. Patch me to Andrew, please," he said, with a grin.

"Sure, sir. Wait a moment," she said, and her image was substituted by one of a bald man.

"Hey, Director Fury," Andrew said, while typing in his keyboard.

"What you got for me, Professor X?" he asked, using the nicknames they issued to one another a long time ago.

"Your PDA should be receiving the file . . . now. It is ordered by difficulty of casting, by the way."

"Thank you. Anything that you can say to me already?"

"Yeah, I filtered it with Willow, and from what we gathered, it isn't apocalyptic-related. This is just some idiots trying to gather a few goodies."

"Too complicated a job to be just that. But thanks, Chuck."

"No problem. If you need anything, howl. Xavier out," and the vidcall was cut.

Joy looked at him, bewildered. "Director Fury? Professor X? Chuck?"

"Old joke. You don't wanna know."

Xander skimmed rapidly through the list, his eye focusing on a particular spell almost at the end of it. He cursed, marked it, scribbled a few things on the screen and sent a message back to Andrew.

"What?" Joy asked, to a somber-looking Xander.

"Nothing. Just something he sent me wrong," he said.

"Okay," she said. He was clearly lying, but about what? "What now?"

"I guess its back to the House, we need to talk with your boss. Then let's check her apartment, see if we can find anything there. If we don't, you up for some traveling?"

"Arizona?"

"Arizona."


	4. Driveby Threats

A/N: I'm not having the time to write anything this past coupla months, except code code code. So, I asked some of my closest friends to write chapters of my stuff. This one is brought to you by GreyWizard, one of the best fanfic writers around, so all the credit and reviews go to him. Thanks, John, a whole lot.

* * *

_**Drive-by Threats**_

_**Stone Point  
Annapolis, MD**_

"So, you're saying that no one at the Council had any real idea of what Andrea was doing out here?" Joyce asked as they inspected the dead Slayer's apartment.

A simple phone call from Chief Hollister had quickly obtained the search warrant Joyce had requested on their way back from the coffee shop and they had only needed to stop at the local court building to pick it up on their way to the apartment complex where Andrea had been staying.

The apartment manager had been more than willing to accommodate their request to be left alone during their investigation, although his concern had seemed to have more to do with minimizing any disruption that might draw attention to what the two were actually doing there, than with any real distress over his deceased tenant's fate.

"Nope," Xander shook his head negatively as he inspected the contents of the various drawers in the desk and the other areas where someone might store information.

"All she really said was that she'd kept running across references to Annapolis and Washington, D.C. when she was checking out any reports on the missing demons," he stated as he leafed through the pages of the address book he'd found in the main desk drawer.

"And that she'd had what she thought might be a Slayer Dream a few days before she flew out here," he added. "She wasn't too forthcoming on the details of the dream, and wasn't even all that sure if it really was a Slayer Dream, according to the report she filed before she left Phoenix."

Seeing the look Joyce was giving him, he sighed and set down the address book.

"Look, I know that you official types, especially here in Washington, do things very much according to the book with rules and regulations out the wazoo, but you gotta admit that the kinda of stuff that the Council deals with on a daily basis would be considered as totally crazy by most normal people, right?" he asked her.

Seeing her reluctant nod of agreement, Xander then continued.

"Slayers, and by extension, the Council and its other operatives, are usually up to their necks in weirdness pretty much everyday of their lives, so we've learned to deal with things in a lot looser way," he said. "Gut feelings are a major part of the way Slayers find what's going on and a lot of the time, we don't have time to file reports and wait for things to be processed and the upper managements types to get back to whoever it is who's stumbled across the problem with possible solutions and recommendations.

"That's one reason we try to give everyone training at the main compound as much training as we can in the way of analytic and deductive reasoning skills in addition to the standard combat training and lessons in demonology and arcane ritual," he explained, "so that when they do come across something unusual, they'll hopefully have a better chance of figuring out what exactly is going on, and end up with a better chance of stopping the badness and making it back out alive."

"I can't believe that she didn't tell anyone anything about why she was coming out here," Joyce replied, an incredulous expression on her face.

"All Andrea told the woman at the operations center when she reported in was that she had a gut feeling that she needed to head east, so she was going to go with that and see what happened. She made her living arrangements after she arrived, reported in and gave the liaison her new address and that was the last we heard from her," Xander told her.

"When no one heard from her after three days, we sent one of the staff from one of our support operations in the area to stop by and check on her, and they reported that none of her neighbors had seen her after she had moved in. We then sent a licensed investigator we keep on retainer and who knows about the might life, to check things out and he says that no one reported hearing any kind of noise that might indicate a struggle of any kind – not that I'd worry about something like that with Andrea being a Slayer – and no one remembers any other strangers hanging around, either.

"The coven tried to do a locator spell to find her the next day, but they came up empty, and that's where things have stayed until you guys found that little scene in your basement," he finished up his explanation.

Joyce's cell phone rang before she could respond, so she answered the call before saying anything further, while Xander began checking out the virtually empty closets in the bedroom to occupy himself as she spoke.

"We might have something," she announced with a smile as she folded her phone and returned it to her pocket.

"Annapolis PD reported this morning that they had a complaint about a possible stalker filed by a Miss Andrea Miller the day before you said she disappeared," she reported. "The Chief got a copy of the police report and checked it out and he said it's pretty much your generic stalker report – she told the investigating officers that she thought someone had been following her around the city and maybe around Washington, too, for a couple days, gave a description that fits about sixty percent of the male population of the area and said he drove away when she tried to confront him. That's all."

"There's gotta be more than that to put that smile on your face," Xander replied once Joyce finished speaking.

"Yep," she agreed. "The names of the officers who took her report. And they're going to meet us for coffee in twenty minutes."

"Cool. Let's go."

* * *

_**Mandy's Coffee  
Downtown Annapolis  
Twenty-seven minutes later**_

"Officer Czarnota, Officer Marston, thank you for taking the time to talk to us," Joyce smiled at the two police officers as she slid into the booth across from them, with Xander sliding in next to her.

"I'm Special Agent Joyce Cameron with the Secret Service, and this is an associate, Mr. Alexander Harris," she introduced the two of them.

"We're investigating the disappearance of a Ms. Andrea Miller," she explained, "and were hoping you might be able to help us out with some additional facts about the stalker report she filed with you last month."

"The Lieutenant said this has got something to do with a possible murder and security breach at the White House. That right?" Marston, a wiry, fairly tall blonde-haired woman asked, her eyes checking out both of them as she took a sip of her coffee.

"Yeah, it does," Xander agreed before Joyce could answer. "What looks to be a very nasty ritualistic killing."

Seeing the annoyed look his companion was giving him for his words, he shook his head as though in disagreement with her clearly obvious desire to not reveal any information, before explaining his reasoning.

"Look, they obviously know this isn't some rinky-dink case about someone tying to climb over the fence on the front lawn to see the President," he pointed out, "and I've been involved in enough field work to know that trying to keep the people on the street and who're actually doing the grunt work in the dark about what's going on usually cause more problems than it prevents, so I'm gonna be up front with these guys about as much as I can.

"If you've got problems with that, either get used to it, or get a new partner," he concluded, noticing as he turned back to face them the grins his words had drawn from both officers.

"Got a picture of the vic?" Czarnota asked, his voice a growl more suited to a grizzly bear than the compactly-built fireplug he was.

"Yes," Joyce nodded, reaching into her inside coat pocket and withdrawing a four by six photo of the murdered Slayer.

Both cops studied the photo for a moment before Marston nodded and tapped her finger against it, her eyes narrowed with concentration.

"Yeah, I remember her," she informed the two investigators. "She flagged us down when we driving by one of those singles apartment complexes west of here and asked about how she could file a complaint about someone following her around. Remember her?" she asked her partner.

"Yeah," Czarnota agreed as his own forehead furrowed with a frown. "Said she thought it was someone trying to interfere with her job. But she was kind of vague on what her job was, exactly, as I recall."

"Yeah, from what I can remember, she said she worked for the security division of some European group and was checking out whether there were some local people interfering with work her company was responsible for," Marston elaborated. "Said that someone had been showing up at a lot of the same places she'd been looking around the past two or three days, and she was pretty sure it wasn't coincidence.

"Did she say anything about what places she might have been checking out, or if she had any idea of who it was that was following her?" Joyce asked, her eyes lighting up at the possibility of a lead in the case.

"Nope. She just said that she'd noticed the guy kept popping up at the same places she visited, and that it was straining the laws of probability way too much for it to be just a coincidence," the smaller cop replied.

"She acted like she was more annoyed at the guy than actually worried," Marston said. "When I suggested that she be careful about walking around alone if this guy was stalking her, she just kind of smiled and said she really wasn't worried about anything like that, since she could take care of herself."

"She did give us a pretty good description of the guy and his car," Czarnota volunteered. "It should all be in the report we filed."

"Yeah, well, we've got a copy of that and it only fits about two-thirds the male population of the area," Joyce sighed.

"Did the license number not check out?" Czarnota asked as he took another gulp of his coffee.

"What license number?" Xander immediately demanded.

"The one she gave us," the officer replied, tapping Andrea's photo. "I know I put it in the report, because I remember thinking that it'd make finding the guy a lot easier, if anything did happen."

"There wasn't any license number in the report we received," Joyce noted as she glanced over at Xander. "All it had was a pretty generic description of the guy and the car, like I said."

"That's strange," Czarnota said. "Okay, hold on a minute, then, and I'll see if I can find it for you," he offered as he pulled out his notebook and began thumbing through it.

A moment later, Xander and Joyce were the recipients of the previously unknown license number, along with a slightly more detailed description the possible stalker, one which included the notation of a possible bird-like tattoo or design on the man's inner right forearm.

"Thanks, guys, you've been a really incredible help on this thing," Xander smiled at the officers as he and Joyce slid out of the booth to leave.

"You mind answering me a question?" Czarnota asked as he looked up at them.

"It depends," Xander immediately hedged. "What do you want to know?"

"This woman…was she an agent of some kind? 'Cause I got the impression she could handle herself pretty well."

Glancing over at Joyce for her reaction to the question, he saw her looking at him with a neutral expression on her face, leaving him to answer however he wanted.

"You might say that," he cautiously agreed. "But she wasn't affiliated with any federal agency."

Seeing the way the two cops glanced at each other after hearing that, he shrugged to himself.

_Let them think whatever they want_, he decided. _If they want to think she was a spy, nothing I say will make them believe otherwise._

"Thanks for the information, officers," he smiled at them as he and Joyce left. "You were a great help."

* * *

The snow had stopped by the time they were leaving, but traffic was still snarled and practically bumper to bumper on the main roads, so Xander turned off and headed off along some of the lesser traveled routes as Joyce reported in to Hollister.

"So, what'd your boss have to say about the license number Andrea reported to the police oh-so-coincidentally being missing from the report he received?" he asked as he drove along one of the lesser traveled roads.

"He just grunted and said that accidents happen, and that maybe whoever was transcribing their report just missed it," Joyce answered.

"You think he really believes that?"

"No. But we need a whole lot more than that before we start screaming about conspiracies," she replied, shaking her head. "Like, for instance, some idea of who it was that killed the young woman we found or a possible motive that sounds a lot better to a district attorney than 'magic'."

"Okay, I'll agree with you on that," Xander nodded, as Joyce noticed him glancing into his rear-view mirror for the third time in less than a minute.

"Something you might want to mention to me?" she asked, glancing at the passenger-side mirror to see if she could spot whatever it was that had him on edge. She was professional enough to not turn around and look out the rear windshield and possibly alert anyone following them to the fact they had been noticed.

"The white van with the dented right front fender that's four cars behind us was parked in Andrea's apartment complex parking lot when we left and it's been following us since we left the diner after talking to those two cops," he informed her. "It matches the same general description of the vehicle Andrea said might have been following her right before she disappeared.

"And it's also made the last four random turns I've made," he added, before she could say anything.

"Interesting," she half-smiled as she glanced over at him. She was gaining more respect for her companion as the day passed.

"I don't suppose you can make this even easier for us and that you managed to catch a look at the license plate at the same time you noticed our stalker, did you?" she gently teased him.

"Hey, no making fun of the guy with only one eye," he grinned at her as he took a moment to glance over at her. "You're the one with all the superpowers here, remember?

Ignoring the wisecrack, Joyce asked, "What do you think we should do about this?

"If they actually are following us, they haven't done anything that we can use to justify stopping them and questioning them about," she pointed out.

"Maybe not officially," Xander agreed. "This might be a good time to use some of our old Sunnydale information-gathering techniques, though."

The grin on his face as he said that made Joyce's stomach twinge just the slightest bit, and she reluctantly asked, "What, exactly, were those?"

"Oh well, when we weren't sure what was going on, we'd head on down to Willie's place – he ran the local demon bar," he added parenthetically, "and then Buffy would threaten him with physical violence until he told us what we wanted to know."

"I can't do anything like that!" Joyce immediately exploded in outrage. "I'm a federal agent, and that's not only illegal and get me fired, it'd invalidate any evidence that we might discover later as a results of any information you get from the person I threatened!"

"Yeah, you are," Xander nodded with a grin that seemed entirely too predatory for Joyce's peace of mind, "but I'm not, so anything I might find out is completely okay for you to follow up on, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," she replied doubtfully. "But –"

"Good," he cut her off before she could say anything else. "Then it's settled. Now, let's find a place for us to talk with our shadow. The snow's made that a lot easier than it would normally be."

Joyce frowned, not completely comfortable with the plan, but since she couldn't see any other alternative available to them at the moment, she just shrugged and sat back.

It took Xander only ten minutes to drive to a new housing development being out up on the outskirts of the city, their shadow letting the distance between them increase to several hundred yards as the traffic grew less congested.

"Okay, let's see what they do when I do this," Xander said as he made an abrupt turn down one of the still-only-partially completed streets and accelerated, breaking the line of sight that the other had been maintaining during their drive.

Turning left down another of the only-partially-finished streets, he made yet another abrupt turn and pulled behind a large construction trailer, killing his headlights and concealing them from the view of anyone passing by on the street, but leaving the engine running.

"What're you doing?" Joyce demanded.

"Waiting to see what our unknown playmates are going to do," he told her.

"If they are involved with Andrea's murder and they've been following us most of the day, then they're probably pretty sure we haven't come across anything having to do with the case that they don't know about, so far, so I'm doing something they won't be understand, to see what their reaction is," he explained as he watched the street intently.

"This street is a dead end, so there's nowhere we can go," he told her. "I'm waiting to see how curious whoever's driving the van is. Do they follow us in here to see what we're doing, or just wait for us to come back out? I'm hoping they're the impatient type, myself."

"And if they do follow us in, what do we do then?" Joyce asked. "What did you guys do back in Sunnydale when this Willie guy didn't have anything to tell you?"

"Beats me," Xander shrugged with another of she was coming to realize was his habitual goofy grins. "Giles was the brains back then, I was just the comedy relief."

Before she could say anything more, the white van that had been following them drifted past slowly, as thought looking for something.

The moment it was past, Xander gunned the engine and pulled out behind them, the SUV now blocking the street, and negating any chance of escape without a confrontation.

Xander got out and began approaching the van, albeit a bit cautiously, Joyce reluctantly admitted as she quickly got out and followed him.

"You guys want to explain why it is you're following us?" he demanded, stopping about ten feet back as the van's doors swung open and two guys got out to confront him.

The driver was a darkly-tanned Caucasian, medium height – maybe five feet, eleven inches tall – with brown eyes, a shaven head, and probably medium build (although that was hard to determine with him wearing the heavy winter coat he had on), Joyce automatically catalogued the man's description as she closed in to guard Xander's back.

His companion was a taller black man, about six feet, three inches in height, and more massively built, brown-eyed and sporting a shaven-head, too, she noticed.

Both of the men who had been following them had an aura of arrogance that seemed to radiate from them as they stood there staring at them.

"No, not really," the driver shook his head and sneered as he moved forward till he was only an arm's length away, as though he were going to physically confront Xander.

"But you should know that you're sticking your nose into things that really don't concern you in the least," he went on, "and that if you don't back off, then all kinds of unfortunate things could happen."

"Is that a threat?" Xander half-smiled as he stood there listening to the other man speak.

" 'Cause if it is, I gotta say, I've been threatened a lot of times, by a lot scarier things than you and I'm still here," he added with a little shrug.

"You've got a real pretty wife and a beautiful little baby. It's be a real shame if – uurrrkk!"

Whatever the guy was going to say was lost as Xander suddenly moved faster than Joyce would have believed possible for anyone completely human.

Once moment, he had been standing there, calm as anything; the next, he had lunged forward, his left fist sinking wrist deep into the guy's stomach and doubling him over, as his right slammed into his jaw. A second later, he had the driver of the van pinned against the back of the van, hand around his throat and his Five-seveN pressing into the soft tissue under the guy's jaw, with a look of complete and utter ruthlessness on his face like nothing she'd ever seen before.

The big black guy had just started to move towards Xander, as surprised as they all were at how quickly and violently he had reacted to the uncompleted threat to his family, when Joyce took him down with a simple leg sweep, being careful to not move at anywhere near her top speed as she did so, and she held him pinned on the ground with an arm lock as she looked to see what Xander was doing.

"You just made your first and last mistake by mentioning my family, ass wipe," the Agent could hear him growling at his semi-conscious prisoner as he shoved the muzzle of his pistol more firmly into the guy's throat. "Now, I'm only going to say this one time, so you better pay real close attention."

"If I even think that someone is looking the wrong way at my family, I'm gonna hunt you down and find you, and once I'm done with you, the coroner will have to make a DNA match-up to be able to identify what's left of your body," he said in a low voice that left everyone listening without the slightest doubt that he was completely willing and able to follow up on his promise.

"So, do we understand each other?" he asked, using his grip on his throat to shake the rapidly recovering man.

"Y-yeah, I heard you," the guy managed to gasp out as he tried to pull air into his laboring lungs.

"Good," Xander growled, before abruptly pulling his pistol back and then slamming it against the side of his prisoner's head, knocking him cold. He let the guy slump to the snow-covered ground, no expression at all on his face, before then leaning down and pulling the guy's wallet from his back pants' pocket.

Riffling through the wallet's contents, he pulled a laminated card from one of the plastic pockets and then dropped the wallet back next to the unmoving body.

"Let him go," he instructed Joyce as he walked over to look down at the black guy whose arm she still had in a control hold.

Warily, she did as he said and then watched uncertainly as he pointed his pistol in the guy's general direction.

"If you're following us around, then you probably have a pretty good idea of what you're involved in," he said in a conversational tone of voice. "If you don't, then I'll tell you that you're playing around with things that are better left alone.

"Either way, you heard what I said to your buddy over there. The fact that you're both still alive after he threatened my family means that you're very, very lucky," he informed the other man, as he rose to his feet.

"Be smart and don't push that luck any further," he said, right before he kicked the guy in the head.

As the guy slumped to the ground, unconscious, Xander then bent over and riffled through his wallet the same he had done with the driver of the van. And just as he had done with the driver, after pulling out a laminated card, he dropped the wallet next to its insensate owner, then turned and began walking back to his SUV.

"Harris! What the hell was that!" Joyce immediately demanded, the moment she stopped staring at him in disbelief at what he just done.

"An example of two people who came very close to proving Darwin correct," he answered calmly as he climbed into his SUV.

"What!" she half-screamed as she stood outside, staring at him through the opened passenger-side door. "What does that mean?"

"You never heard of Charles Darwin?" he asked, a skeptical look on his face. "Come on! If they taught about him in Sunnydale, I know that all the other school systems in the country must have taught about him, too!"

"I know who Darwin is!" Joyce snapped at him. "What I meant was, what did you think you were doing back there with that little demonstration of macho bullshit!"

"Come on, get in," he replied as he started the engine. "It's too cold out for you to be standing outside and arguing."

Once she had climbed in, he shifted into first and headed out of the development, apparently not giving any further thought to the two unconscious men they had left lying on the snow-covered street.

"All right, enough bullshit! Tell me why I shouldn't have you arrested for assaulting those two guys back there?" she demanded as they drove along.

"Well, probably because if you really did want to prevent me from doing anything to either one of those scumbags, you would have acted back there, and not just stood by and watch," he pointed out reasonably. "After all, with you being a Slayer, you could've stopped me quite easily.

"And since you didn't, now I can give you those guys' driver's licenses and you can have your people check both of them out," he added as he handed her the cards he'd taken from the guys' wallets. "And you can check out their fingerprints and see if the names that come up for them match up with the ones on the licenses."

"You had all of that planned when you attacked that first guy who tried to threaten you?" Joyce was staring at him with a mixture of surprise and respect.

"Nope," he shook his head, quickly disrupting her idea of him as one of the most devious people she'd ever met. "That asshole made the mistake of trying to threaten Dawn and Jessie. After I had him laid out on the ground, I figured I might as well make the most of the situation."

"Did you really mean what you were saying back there?" she then asked him, staring at him while once again trying to reconcile the friendly and easy-going guy she'd been working with most of the day with the cold and very dangerous man she'd seen suddenly appear to threaten the two men who'd been tailing them for several hours. "About what you'd do if they threatened your family again."

"Certainly," he replied, taking a moment to glance over at her. "That's number one in my rules to live by: 'Nobody hurts the people I care about. Ever.' That includes threatening them and walking away unhurt."

"What are some of your other rules?" Joyce asked curiously. She really couldn't argue with him once he'd explained his reasoning; she had similar rules, herself.

"Well, one of my favorites lately is, 'If Buffy's visiting and staying with us, put her favorite cereal on the top shelf in the cabinet, and hide the step stool'," he informed her with a mischievous grin.

"By the way, when you call your boss about running down those licenses, don't forget to give him the license number Andrea gave those cops," he reminded her as he brought their conversation back to its original purpose.


End file.
